


Then Let it Be True

by mmmuse



Series: Discoveries [3]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a night of surrender and passion, Ross and Demelza come to terms with the change in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Let it Be True

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @Sherylyn for her wonderful beta reading for all three parts of this series, a fandom she'd known nothing about until I happened to mention I was writing again. And thank you to those of you who have given me kudos and comments on parts 1 and 2. 
> 
> I'd only planned on three parts to this work, but there may be a drabble or two that spring to mind later. Enjoy and please let me know what you think!

“Then, _let_ it be true.”

Ross Poldark froze. He could scarcely believe he was standing where he was: in his bedchamber with Demelza, the words she’d just whispered hanging in the night air.

Moments earlier, he’d kissed her for the first time. And second. And third. Her eager and enthusiastic response had been like a narcotic; an oasis to a man denied water far too long. He’d wanted more. Needed more. And knew he could not. SHOULD not. He’d pushed her away through sheer force of will and ordered her to go to bed in a voice he’d barely recognized before leaving the room to stumble upstairs, seeking solitude.

He’d entered the master bedchamber, thankful that his feet had known the path to travel. The shock of it, the taste of her mouth, the way her body had trembled against his at his touch weakened his knees, drawing him to sit on the bed with a thump. He’d shrugged out of his waistcoat, his arms feeling clumsy at the task when he’d heard a knock on the door.

She’d entered without waiting for a reply and stood, framed in the doorway with only the moonlight from the hallway window to illuminate her. Ross went very still. “What is it?” he’d said, the steadiness of his voice belying the racing of his blood.

She’d moved across the floor towards him, the only sound in the air being the swish of the satin of her dress. The dress she’d found in the library and had worn as if it had been made for her. She’d stopped just outside of arm’s length and looked him squarely in the eye.

“The dress,” she’d said, her voice barely audible, a whisper of wanting. “It unfastens down the back.” She’d turned, presenting her back and the crisscross of laces holding the dress closed.

He’d felt the pulse in his veins increase. His blood rose to warm his skin, and his loins tightened in response. It had only required a quick glance to realize she could have managed the laces without his assistance. She’d got into the gown on her own in the first place. And the Demelza he’d kissed moments before was a new Demelza, one he’d not encountered before: bold, assertive, nearly daring him to see her for who she was, a woman grown. A woman who’d begun to inhabit his thoughts, both waking and sleeping, with dangerous regularity.

He’d stepped closer to her, only to stop mere inches from her back, and slowly raised his hands to the top of the dress collar. His fingers shook for a moment before he’d taken a deep breath and sought out the ends of the laces at the top, slowing slipping them through the loops. He’d wished he’d had more light, for he wanted to see that graceful expanse of fair skin -- inch by inch revealed with each pass of his fingers -- bathed in candlelight. His breathing had grown labored, stirring the fine, red-gold curls feathering the nape of her slender neck.

When he’d reached the loops at the base of her spine, he’d moved a step closer and allowed himself the pleasure of slowly raising his gaze along the length of her back, drinking in its beauty, before coming to rest at her nape. He’d wanted to sample the skin right there, to taste, to breathe in the scent of flowers and earth he’d begun to detect when he’d first kissed her. He’d seen how her body had trembled as he’d worked at her laces, but acknowledged the bravery she’d shown by the offer she’d made. Pure, unrelenting lust and desire rose up within him, hardening his flesh to as near an agonizing state as he’d ever known and he had needed to clench his teeth to keep from releasing the growl that had been trapped in his throat.

His breathing had sounded like rushing waves in his ears, as if he’d run for miles, and he’d leaned his forehead against her hair. But he’d paused, then, needing to bring a moment of reason to the folly before it consumed them both.

_“You know what people say of us.” It was a voice Ross had never heard come from his mouth: dark, hungry, filled with yearning. His eyes continued to sweep her back, from nape to waist._

_“Yes,” Demelza sighed. The sound quickened his heart to race ever faster in his chest._

_“If we behave like this,” the dark, unfamiliar voice continued, “it will be true.” He glanced down, once again, as if steeling himself for her response. It was up to her to decide: a chance to bring all the madness to a halt or to see it through to the very end. In all honesty, he did now know which it would be and wondered if he would survive hearing either._

_“Then,_ let _it be true,” she breathed._

Ross’ breath had stopped for several beats as his eyes had raced back up to the beautiful column of Demelza’s neck. His response had been primal. Stepping close, he’d slipped his hand into the open back of the dress and around the narrow curve of her waist before the fabric slid down to expose the right side of her body. He’d closed the remaining distance between them, bringing his body tight against hers. His eyes had glanced over her shoulder, watching as his hand caressed the quivering skin along her ribs before slipping up to capture her small, firm breast. Her neck had arched, and his mouth had brushed against its slender length, tasting her skin at last, and it had left him needing more. She’d turned in his arms and the dress slid harmlessly onto the floor as he’d brushed her soft lips with one kiss, then another, until they’d fallen onto the feather bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The master bedchamber door opened with a slight creak. Ross slowly opened his eyes as the soft pad of footsteps slipped quietly into the distance. Sunlight streamed into the room, and he winced into it. He had the slight headache of a person who’d had a little too much to drink the night before, and although he had indeed indulged in more brandy than was recommended, he knew some of his discomfort had been caused by something more intoxicating than drink.

Demelza. The child he’d rescued to become his kitchen maid, now grown into a woman of seventeen years. A woman whose quick wit and intelligence had often made him smile with humor, pride, companionship and amazement. A woman who’d known her own mind and offered herself to him the night before.

 _Well, the rumors that_ had _been spreading across the county could_ now _be considered true_ , he thought to himself. Ross Poldark had bedded his kitchen maid.

The memories slid through his mind: He’d lain with her, intoxicated by their first real embrace, the softness of her lips, the feel of her fingers running through his hair, the feel of her body against his. He’d kissed her with growing ferocity, frustrated by the barrier his clothing had continued to make until he’d risen and dragged the shirt from his body. He reached for the three-stick candelabra on the night table. He needed more light, for he fully intended to see and experience this night with the woman who’d haunted his dreams. His hands had trembled, fumbling the match he’d used to light each of the three candles, the growing light revealing his first unhindered glance of her slender body, her long limbs graceful, her high, small breasts, the curve of her waist with its shadowed navel, and the deep russet curls below. She’d reached for him then, pulling him down into her embrace once again, the tip of her tongue touching his bottom lip. He’d groaned in near agony, his erection causing his breeches to have grown painfully uncomfortable.

“Wait,” he’d rasped. “Please, wait.” He’d sat up, nearly ripping the boots and stockings off his feet. Rising to the side of the bed and turning to face her, he began on the breeches. She’d risen alongside him, her hair nearly freed from the scarf she’d used to attempt to manage its wildness and tumbling down the sides of her face. The look of avid curiosity and passion she’d given him had made his fingers hopelessly clumsy with the buttons. A few tries later and he’d released the last, and the breeches slipped down his hips and thighs to the floor.

Her eyes had widened at the sight of him, heavy and solid, against the flat of his lower belly. “Oh, sir,” she’d breathed, and had reached out a hand to touch him. His own hand had shot out to grip her wrist, for he knew he’d not last a second longer if she laid a finger on him.

“Ross,” he’d all but moaned as he’d pressed a kiss to her hand before gathering her against him and losing himself in a kiss.

They’d tumbled onto the bed. Their hands had reached out to hold whatever they’d been able to grasp: hair, breast, and buttock. Ross had found he’d not last long, not with the frenzied coursing of blood through his veins, the taste of Demelza’s skin on his tongue, the feel of her body in his hands and against his own. And he’d been sorry for it, for he knew this first time would be difficult for her.

He’d pressed her down against the sheets and had slid a knee between hers. “Demelza, forgive me, but I will need to cause you pain this first time.” He’d touched her then, the feel of the wet and supple folds of her body and her shivering response causing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing, “You’re… ready for me, but because you’ve never known a man before, there will be some resistance.” He’d willed himself to say the rest. “We can stop now, if you wish.”

The sea-green eyes, nearly black with desire, gazed up at him. “No, Ross,” she’d gasped, and the sound of her voice calling him by his given name for the first time, trembling with want, had almost been his undoing.

He pressed a kiss on her lips before sliding his other knee between her legs and settling into the cradle of her hips. Bracing his upper body above hers on his forearms, he’d slipped his body into hers and stopped breathing. The heat had been incredible and he’d felt his body grow damp with a thin layer of sweat. The tightness of her body had gripped his own. Pressing forward, he encountered what he’d anticipated discovering. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear and surged forward with a powerful thrust of his hips and held still.

 

… The feel of her, the heat, pressed against him, surrounding him, quivering after he’d claimed her. How her inexpert kisses and caresses had nearly driven him over the breaking point before he finally succumbed to a pleasure he’d never known before….

He stifled the groan that had risen in his throat before raising his hand to rub his face. The scent of her lingered upon his fingers and he felt his body tighten instantly in response. He closed his eyes, let loose the groan and flung back the sheets to rise. The chill in the air raised goose bumps along his overheated naked body as he moved about, retrieving his clothing that had been carelessly strewn around the room. His eye caught sight of something on the sheets where Demelza had slept: the bright smear of blood. His own stilled in his veins. Anger flared and he dragged the linens off the bed, bundled them and threw them onto the chair near the fireplace before taking cold water from the bedside pitcher – quite cold – and doing what he could to tend to the stain. _It’ll have to do,_ he thought, _I only wish I didn’t have to leave it in her laundry basket._  

He put on a pair of breeches to make him minimally presentable and made his way to the kitchen for a washbasin of warm water. He prayed Demelza would not be about: he was not quite ready to see her. She was nowhere to be seen and he sighed in relief. Prudy prepared the basin and told him the girl had left to go for her morning rambles. He nodded curtly, accepted the basin, and returned to his room to bathe.

He took great care with his ablutions. He’d always been fastidious, even working on the farm as he had for the past three years. Daily baths, sometimes twice in a day should his work have been exceeding laborious, were his habit. And he’d always taken pains to wash after an encounter with a woman, particularly if he’d availed himself of Margaret’s – the strumpet who frequented the Red Lion in Truro -- services. But it had been many, many months since he’d felt the need to do so. With her, that is. No, for the last several months, another woman had entered into his consciousness, into the back of his mind, to come into his imaginings when he’d least expected it: mending the gate, checking Darkie’s hooves, handing up ironstone to the surface with the boys. Strands of red-gold had replaced the brown hair of the woman in Truro; sea green eyes superseding brown. Lyrical laughter, often accompanied by a peasant’s song, had overwhelmed memories of a contralto purr.

His loins tightened again, this time with a heavy, accompanying pulse in his veins. He let out a curse and poured the remaining contents of the bedside pitcher over his head before continuing his bath. Whether he thought he could wash himself clean of the memory of his night with Demelza, he did not know. He only knew that repeatedly encountering the unique fragrance of her on his body would keep him from accomplishing anything, so his only hope was to minimize it as much as possible. 

Heavy, physical activity was what he needed to take his mind off of the situation, Ross considered, as he rubbed himself dry, quite roughly, with a broad sheet of bath linen. Punishing activity. He reached for the well-worn work clothes he reserved for the farm, dressed quickly, and quit the room before returning to grab the now-damp bed linens.

He could, at the very least, bury them far down in the basket.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Demelza laid deep in one of the fields near Nampara, awash in spring wildflowers, her pup Garrick curled near her side. The warm morning sun beat down upon her and she reveled in the heat that seeped through her skin. Skin that felt…sensitized from the night before. Still.

Never, even in her most wild imaginings, had she thought she could feel as she did in that moment. Her muscles felt loose and languid amidst the twinges of discomfort in her back and thighs. She felt her nipples tighten almost painfully as she dwelled upon images that consumed her thoughts. Silken strands of black, curling hair between her fingers, the rasp of a stubbled cheek against her neck, as lips and tongue tasted and caressed her skin. The pull of his mouth upon her breast, the heat of his skin. The taste and scent of him, of earth and heat, leather and pipe smoke.

The weight of his body, piercing hers. She remembered how tears prickled her eyes and ran down the sides of her face at the pain: searing, stretching her, and she’d cried out. He’d stroked them away with the pads of his thumbs, his lips kissing her cheeks, her hairline, her trembling lips, distracting her from the discomfort, pressing her into the featherbed. He’d held very still, allowing her body to grow accustomed to his presence. He lowered his head to rest against hers, his breath panting hard in her ear; his mouth shifting to press kisses along her neck. Gradually, the pain morphed into something new, a pleasing fullness that caressed from within. She’d felt compelled to shift her hips, gasping at the pleasurable friction her movement had caused. He’d shuddered atop her and set his body into motion. The rhythm he’d set had been slow at first, but gained in speed and intensity within seconds. And she’d matched it, unquestionably. He’d kissed her deeply, his mouth opening wide to claim her tongue with his, before breaking from hers when the need for air became too great. His right hand had slid down her body to grasp her hip as his own surged against her. She’d cried out again, gasping from the indescribable pleasure that was building in her body. She’d raised her head to press kisses along the line of his jaw, her tongue escaping to taste the skin of his strong neck.

“Demelza,” he’d groaned, “I can’t…” He’d shifted his body to the side, released her hip and thrust his hand down to where their bodies were joined and touched her. The world seemed to have shattered apart. She’d clasped her legs around his hips and arched her back as wave upon wave of pleasure rocked her from her core outward. It was impossible to imagine, the wonder and discovery inconceivable and yet she was in it. Through the maelstrom, she’d heard his strangled groan, and felt him shudder violently above her, within her. She’d looked up through passion-drugged lashes to see the pleasure etched on his beautiful face and had grown weak in wonder that she should have been the cause…

 

An ache formed deep within her womb, bringing Demelza back from her musings. She pressed her knees tightly against her chest in an attempt to remedy it. It would not do, for she now knew what would. Would she know it again?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When he’d entered the kitchen, he’d half hoped that she’d be there. And then had silently cursed himself for wishing it. He’d been momentarily distracted from his inner flogging by the not-so-quick movements of Jud Paynter, attempting to hide the bottle of rum he’d been sipping. And it had given him focus.

“Where is Demelza?” His voice almost sounded normal. Almost.

“‘Aven’t seen her,” Prudy replied, casting a side-glance at her master.

“When she appears, tell her to start in the barley field,” Ross barked at Prudy whilst he stalked around the kitchen, gathering food and water from the table. He turned and leveled his gaze at Jud. “You and I will set to with the hay.”

After leveling some of the bile towards his lazy, shiftless house servant (who had seemed quite put out at the prospect of actually doing ANY work), Ross slammed out of the house, stalked across the yard towards the barn and tossed the food and bottle into the front of the cart. He lifted one scythe into the back of the cart, then another, before moving to hitch the oxen. The physical labor felt good. Better than good: desperately needed.

As he walked the oxen and cart out into the yard, he checked the position of the sun in the sky and frowned. Demelza was usually back at home from her morning rambles by now. A fission of concern made his strong brow furrow. Was she hurt? Had the light of day brought about dismay over the events of the night before? He could almost picture her, sitting in a field, her quick and agile mind racing with fear and confusion. He now wished he could see her walking up the lane towards the house, her arms filled with flowers and a smile on her lips, just as she had yesterday morning. Before everything had changed between them.

He swore, loud enough to startle the oxen, which lowed deep in their throats, their eyes rolling back at him. “JUD!” he bellowed, giving a hard yank on the rope to set the cart in motion. “Get a move on!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza roused from sleep and looked up at the sky. It was well past time for her to be up and at her chores, and she knew she’d catch hell from Prudy if she didn’t return to the house without delay. She found, however, that she didn’t want to sweep the kitchen or do the washing. Not today. As she’d lain in the field, niggling doubts and judgments about what had happened had begun to knick away at the corners of her mind. She’d never been one much for going to church, but she’d known the difference between right and wrong for as long as she could remember. For some things, the line of demarcation between right and wrong was stark; black and white. For other things, though, there was much more gray to be found. Stealing was wrong, but in the case of Jim Carter, a young man struggling to feed his family, was the taking of a pheasant or two so wrong as to earn a person prison time or worse? And she’d known, for many years, that if you laid with a man outside of marriage there were only two paths forward: matrimony or prostitution.

This thought caused Demelza’s blood to run cold. Was the situation black or white, or were there other, grayer options available to consider? Demelza prayed that there were, for she hadn’t a hope in hell that Ross would marry her. And the thought of sharing what she’d shared with him made cheap with the exchange of coin with another made the bread she’d had to break her morning fast twist in her stomach.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, she’d barely heard the rhythmic swish-swish-swish of a well-wielded scythe in an adjacent field. She sat up to look through the flower stalks, and was rendered breathless. Ross stood no more than a hundred feet away from her, stripped to the waist and revealing a body made golden by the sun. He was using that body to act as a lever for the scythe as it cut through the stalks. He was drenched in sweat, his hair – a riot of black and brown strands about his head – was glistening with it. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble along his jaw stood out in stark contrast to the smooth cheekbone above.

_Memories of that stubble scratching the inside of her thigh…_

“They be saying Jim Carter won’t last five minutes in Bodmin Gaol,” Jud called out to Ross, breaking into Demelza’s reverie. “If thieving don’t get him, starvation will.” Ross stopped his work to glare at his servant. “Still, if someone we know hadn’t spoke up for him he be on his way to seven years transportation.”

Ross began to work once again, his back now facing where Demelza sat, transfixed. She watched the play of those muscles as he swung back and forth. A small smile played about her lips. She remembered the feel of those muscles flexing under her hands as he’d thrust within her. And she shivered. How would she be able to look at him and not want to feel them against her palms, to taste the sweat from his skin, to hear him muffle his groan of satisfaction against her throat again?

The sound of hoof beats made her shift her gaze from Ross (who’d stopped to drink from his water jug, the rhythmic bob of his Adam’s apple teasing Demelza with a sudden desire to flick her tongue against it) to a rider on the ridge above. It was Elizabeth Poldark, sitting serenely upon a white grey mare and looking flawless in her tailored riding habit. She appeared to be headed towards Nampara.

Demelza’s eyes snapped back towards where Ross stood. His gaze was intense as he watched the horsewoman’s progress. He leaned down, gathered his shirt and coat, and stalked off in the direction of the house. Demelza burned with a mixture of jealousy and dread. She’d known things between she and Ross would have to be resolved, and Elizabeth’s presence was forcing the matter. Decision made, she watched as Ross disappeared up the ridge, and waited for Jud to finish loading the cart and leave before rising from her hidden spot amidst the flowers to head for the stone house on the hill.

Thirty minutes later, Demelza escaped the house through a side door, her mind reeling from the encounter she’d had with Ross and Elizabeth. What had she been thinking? She’d burst into the parlor without so much as a knock, appearing before them with weeds hanging out of her wild, unruly hair and grass stains on her skirt? She looked as though she’d been doing PRECISELY what she’d been doing: lazing around in the fields all day.

Demelza had always known about the chemistry that always seemed to linger around the two of them, had seen how Ross’ entire being would relax whenever Elizabeth was in the room. She’d chosen THAT moment to dash into their presence without taking a single moment to compose herself and had wound up standing in front of them, emotionally barren, for all to see.

When Demelza’s eyes had met Ross’, there had been – for a split second – a crack in the usually well-shielded countenance. Openness, searching and passion; yes, it had all been there before he’d managed to assume the facade of purposeful indifference and did not meet her eyes again. And she’d responded, returning his gaze with her own, questioning, seeking, filled with wonder. An instant, before she’d dropped her eyes to the floor and felt the blood rush up into her fair cheeks, burning with embarrassment.

For Elizabeth had known. It was clear in her expression that she’d sensed a change between them, and the awkward silence had grown near to unbearable.

_“Beg your pardon, sir… ma’am,” Demelza managed to get out of her throat. “Can I get you anything, ma’am?”_

_“Prudy served us. Her arm seems recovered.” Ross’ voice was deep, resonant and matter-of-fact. Demelza nearly shivered at the internal chaos that filled her just at the sound. How could he be so calm?_

_“Yes, sir.” She nodded her head and cast her eyes about for a means to escape. She noticed the cornflowers, their fragile green stems nearly crushed within her fist and made for the door. “I’ll just see about these flowers.”_

_“They’re very pretty,” Elizabeth said, the words clipped and abrupt._

_Demelza raised her eyes to meet Elizabeth’s. She paused for a second before raising the bouquet up in offering. “Would you like them?”_

_“Oh, thank you, but I’m afraid they won’t last,” Elizabeth said, with an errant wave of the hand. “See? They’re fading already. Cornflowers are like that.” The look Elizabeth gave her was cold and filled with distain. And worse. Demelza could feel herself closing in on herself, wishing to high heaven that she could have been anywhere but in that room, with the man she loved who she knew loved the other._

_“I must go.” Elizabeth said and stood abruptly._

_Ross followed suit, his movement jerky, unlike his usual self. “I will see you out.”_

_And as he passed Demelza, within inches of her touch, she noticed he barely cast a glance in her direction._

She’d felt deflated. Demoralized. And undone. She’d thrown the flowers down upon the table and sought her escape. She’d called Garrick and run from the side yard, along the cliffs to the entrance to the cove. She tucked up her skirts and walked to the edge of the surf, her bare toes awash in the waves. And, after several moments of quiet, made her decision.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross stood in the yard, watching Elizabeth’s figure riding away towards Trenwith. He’d been genuinely happy to see her when he’d walked into the parlor, but had found the conversation moving in the same direction as it always had been since his return: glances that lingered a little too long, comments made to imply something more. She’d wished, the day of her wedding, that they would be able to be neighbors and friends. Ross had snorted. Neighbors, yes. Friends? Most definitely not.

And when Demelza had burst into the room? Ross couldn’t remember a time where he’d been so…flustered. It was a word he’d never considered describing any aspect of his personality. Ever. And yet, there she stood, her hair a wild cloud of red-gold curls around a face he’d feathered with kisses mere hours before. It had NOT been the way he’d wished to see her for the first time since they’d shared his bed. Not with Elizabeth sitting there, clearly aware that something had…changed between them.

He’d cast his eyes around the room, attaching focus anywhere outside of the wide sea-green gaze that had searched to connect with his. Demelza was not accomplished at disguising her discomfort around Elizabeth, and now – after what had passed between them in the night – tension ballooned to the breaking point.

Ross turned from the gate and walked to the barn. He had to clear his head before he saw Demelza again. Picking up a sharpening stone, he set to work on an old hand scythe. He found, however, he could not get images of her out of his mind, despite the work. The rhythm of stone against metal reminded him of how it had felt, moving against her, inside her tight, welcoming body until he felt sweat rise on his upper lip.

He stopped, heaving a sigh. It was no use. He had to find her.

“Demelza!” he called out into the darkness of the barn. No response. He set the blade down and rose from his seat. He called out her name several times around the barn, the yard and other outbuildings, searching for her. Apprehension grew in the pit of his stomach. It was unlike her to be gone from the property at this hour. Finally, he entered the house in hopes of finding her in the kitchen. No such luck, he thought to himself, as he saw Jud and Prudy gathered at the table.

“Where’s Demelza?” Ross said, doing his utmost to keep his voice detached.

“Last I seen her she were walkin’ to Sawle with that blatherin’ dog o’ ‘ers.” Jud muttered.

Ross nodded, his apprehension shifting to fear. He’d recalled the look he’d seen on her face as he’d risen to see Elizabeth to her horse: downcast, sorrowful, confused. The same look she’d had on her face her first day at Nampara when she’d thought he wanted her to go home. “Fetch my horse, Jud,” he ordered, gathering his hat and coat.

Fifteen minutes later, Ross was atop Darkie, cantering up the road towards Sawle. Jud had indicated the girl had left an hour before Ross had asked about her. As he came to the crest at the top of the ridge he looked down along the road and spotted her, the lining of her cloak flashing scarlet in the fading sun, Garrick tugging at his lead. Decision made, he urged the horse forward.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza plodded along the road, her shoulder aching from the bag she carried. She’d decided she could not continue at Nampara. Not after what had happened. She couldn’t stay on and return to only being his kitchen maid, now that she’d known the touch of his hand, the taste of his lips, known every inch of his body. And she would have to see him with Elizabeth, playing the game they’d played, knowing that he still held deep affection for the mistress of Trenwith, that he would have given anything to have her in his bed, doing the things he’d done to Demelza. And she’d known that, if she’d stayed, he would have sought her out again and again, a substitute for the one who held his affection, and she would have been powerless to resist him. The love she had for him was too great. She would be better off far away from him.

She’d hoped she would find employment as a kitchen maid to a family. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but a thought to cling to as each step she took seemed to cut into her soul.

“I engage you for two years.” Demelza whirled around in response to the dark, familiar voice that had boomed over her shoulder. Ross was all but stalking up behind her on Darkie. “What do you mean by running away?”

“Sir, I—uh,” she stammered, her voice sounding broken to her hearing.

“Haven’t you been well treated?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Aren’t you grown accustomed to the house? And your tasks?” He paused for a moment. “And my moods?” he murmured, his voice softer.

She shivered. “Yes, sir,” she responded. _Judas, just his voice makes me tremble inside._

“And do you not give me what I want before I even ask?” he continued in a rush.

“Yes, sir, but I—” she said haltingly, “I thought, after what happened—”

“—You thought you would no longer be my servant,” he finished for her. His eyes bore into hers, unreadable.

“Not from choice, sir,” she said. It had had a finality that came very close to breaking her heart into a million pieces, but it was the truth, clearly stated.

He glanced at his hands holding Darkie’s reins and nodded. “And you’re right,” he said, turning his head to look out over the sea and setting sun before returning to face her. “You CAN no longer be my servant.”

“Then what is there to do, sir?” she exclaimed. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and she willed herself not to let them fall.

“You will become my wife.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

Nearly seven months later, Ross lay abed, his sleeping, well-satisfied wife spooned against him, her head resting on his outstretched left arm. It was Christmas night and he’d been told, just a short while before, that he would become a father in a few months’ time. He counted the many blessings Demelza had brought into his life since the day they’d met, since the day she’d agreed – after much convincing – to become his and his alone. He nuzzled the back of her neck with his lips and cupped her breast before moving his hand to cover her still-flat stomach. He pulled her in tighter against him and heard her sigh in contentment.

 _Yes,_ he thought to himself as his eyes drifted down in sleep. _This was, indeed, true._


End file.
